


Don't make me an optimist

by victorialukas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka and Anakin are siblings, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Anakin Skywalker, Fleabag AU, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pining, Priest Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon is Dad, no betas we die like men, this baby can hold so much self-projection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25730116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorialukas/pseuds/victorialukas
Summary: Fleabag-inspired AU.Anakin Skywalker's life is a mess. His mother's dead. His best friend killed herself. His business is failing. To make matters worse, his sister is absolutely thriving (or so he thinks) and his dad is about to marry a woman he can't stand.Oh, well. At least the priest officiating the wedding is super hot.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 87





	1. This is a love story

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing an AU. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Olivia is an OC, as I hate the stepmother character in Fleabag far too much to give her a Star Wars equivalent. Olivia and Alden are both names that have meaning related to balance, so I thought that would be a fun nod to Qui-Gon. (I couldn't think of a modern name that would sound anything close to Qui-Gon, so Alden he is. He's not really in-character anyhow, but picture him as Liam Neeson, OK?)
> 
> **CW: Alcohol, smoking, discussion of abortion, discussion of suicide and death in general.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of abortion in this chapter.
> 
> For this fic in general, expect the content you'd see in _Fleabag:_ alcohol, smoking, drinking, etc. I've been wanting to write a Fleabag-inspired fic for a long time, so I hope folks want to read it.

Anakin had no desire to go to a family dinner—especially not one celebrating his father’s engagement. In many ways, the grief from his mother’s death four years ago still felt fresh. Didn’t his father feel that way, too? Not enough, apparently.

At least the promise of dinner in another part of the city meant he’d have to close the café early. Even when it was empty, Anakin felt obligated to stick around until 7pm (or 9pm on Fridays), but this gave him an excuse to abandon that lonely counter. As he tossed his galaxy-print apron aside, he chided himself for the thought. He wasn’t going to be able to pay rent in Toronto by running his business into the ground. He grabbed the broom to give the floor another quick sweep in the hope of preventing mice.

Olivia, his stepmother-to-be, wasn’t _that_ bad. It wasn’t as if she was a monster or anything, she was just “a bit of stick-in-the-mud,” as Ahsoka often put it. Their father could be one, too, to be fair. But he hadn’t always been that way. After Olivia slipped into his life after meeting him at an art show, he’d changed drastically. He started with cutting his hair and shaving his beard, and then he gradually became more withdrawn. Olivia came first. Even before his kids. Then again, Anakin and Ahsoka weren’t really kids anymore. They were twenty-eight and twenty-three, respectively. Anakin still felt like a child much of the time, drifting through life without direction. Ahsoka, meanwhile, had always been more “together,” despite being the younger sibling. She may have been reckless when it came to dyeing her hair, but she never had trouble holding down a job or paying the bills. That was saying something, considering she was a journalist.

Once the café looked tidy enough, Anakin patted his pockets. Wallet, check. Keys, check. Smokes, check. Transit pass, check. He switched off the overhead lights and made a silent prayer that his dad and Olivia would be taking care of the check that evening. Just before he left, Anakin traced his finger along the photo hanging by the door. “Goodnight, Padmé,” he said aloud. It’d become a habit since she died back in—well—Jesus, that was more than a year ago, wasn’t it? As always, he left the café with her on his mind, this time so lost in thought that he walked in the wrong direction for a good three minutes. He realized his mistake, spun around and headed toward the subway station on the other end of the street.

Padmé been Anakin’s best friend. Still was. He hadn’t bothered to make another friend since he met her, because he didn’t need anyone else. That’s why he was alone all the time now: no one could ever compare to her. Or, that was his excuse, anyway. It was easier to accept _that_ than to accept no one wanted to be around Anakin unless they were having sex with him.

When Anakin arrived at the station, he debated hopping the turnstile. He’d done it before and gotten away with it. Ah, the upsides of being a white man. Security had gotten much more stringent, though, so he decided he’d better not. He swiped his card and let out a small sigh of relief when the light turned green. He made it just in time to board the train that would take him from Midtown towards Little Italy. In a perfect world, Anakin would’ve transferred to a bus for the last fifteen minutes of his commute to Ballaro, but he didn’t want to risk using up what was left on his card. He would need it to get home. Instead, he walked the rest of the way at a brisk pace. He’d be late, but his family could wait.

The restaurant was busy once Anakin got there, as was to be expected on a Friday night. Olivia’s voice carried, though, so he found the table easily. Sure enough, she was chattering away and his father was nodding along absentmindedly. Ahsoka was already there, too, and a man Anakin didn’t recognize sat across from her. Light-haired, bearded and handsome—he couldn’t be a new boyfriend, could he? No. Too old for her.

Ahsoka’s hair had been orange last Anakin saw it. Now, it swirled in silver and blue. She was the first to turn and look at him. “Took you long enough,” she said, beaming. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Anakin. “Nice to see you too, Snips.” Ahsoka was adopted—her dark skin made it obvious—but the two siblings were tied by something stronger than blood. They actually _cared about_ each other. 

“Oh, Ani, so glad you could join us!” Olivia said in a sing-song voice. Her use of the nickname made Anakin want to hurl. The only people who were allowed to call him “Ani” were six feet under. “The bottles of wine just arrived.”

That lightened Anakin’s attitude. “Thank God,” he said. Intrigued by the stranger, he took the chair next to him. The man passed him a bottle of white and Anakin poured himself a generous glass.

“This is Father Kenobi,” said Anakin’s dad. Olivia called him “darling” exclusively, so it was easy to forget his name was Alden. 

“He’s marrying us!” Olivia added.

They’d invited the _priest_ to family dinner. Well, probably not _they_. Probably was the wicked stepmother’s bright idea.

“You can just call me Ben, if you like,” said the stranger. He spoke with a faint but noticeable Scottish lilt. Now that he was next to him, Anakin noticed the hint of red in his hair, illuminated by the candlelight. His beard was greying slightly. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties.

“How’s Quinn?” Olivia asked.

Anakin took a gulp of wine. “We broke up.”

“Again? Oh, what a shame. Such a great guy.”

“He’ll be back by the end of the month.” Ahsoka winked. “You’ll see.”

Anakin shrugged. He wasn’t so sure. When Quinn stormed out of the apartment the week before, it felt final. Not like all the other times. “I’ll always love you,” he’d said, “but I just can’t take it anymore.” Usually, they’d gotten back together before he could move all of his stuff out. Two days ago, though, Anakin came home from the café to find Quinn had returned and gathered all of his clothes while he was at work. He’d sent a curt text: “My key’s under the doormat.”

Ahsoka turned her attention to the priest, no doubt doing Anakin a favour by changing the subject. “So, is it standard to get dinner with a couple who’ve hired you?”

“No way,” Ben replied with a chuckle. “I’m terribly grateful for it, though. I don’t have any friends here yet and Toronto is so fucking lonely.”

Anakin silently agreed. This city was bleak as hell. Ahsoka, for her part, carried on about all the great local communities and places to meet people. She was so good at socializing. People were drawn to her. Sometimes it made Anakin hate her.

No, that wasn’t fair. Anakin adored Ahsoka. Since elementary school, he’d gotten in trouble for throwing his fists around at anyone who bothered her. Lately, though, he avoided her. He couldn’t help feeling they were in competition. Anakin knew it hurt her—whenever he rejected her invitations, she’d shrug and smile, but that smile never quite reached her eyes. Ahsoka didn’t try to make him feel inferior, he knew that, but he felt jealous anyway. Ahsoka with her job at the _Star_ , her Yorkville apartment, her mental stability…

“So, what do you do?”

Anakin glanced to his right, surprised. Ben was talking to him. “Oh, I uh, I run a café.”

“That’s impressive. Not everyone has the guts to open a small business in a city like this.”

Oh, okay. This deliriously attractive man thought Anakin was impressive. He decided not to voice the whole truth, which was that the café had been struggling for months. “Well, you know,” Anakin said, “I’ve been known to be quite daring. I’m drinking wine on an empty stomach, for instance.”

Ben and Ahsoka both laughed. Olivia didn’t, although Anakin thought he saw his father stifling a chuckle. The server came by shortly thereafter.

As the evening went on, Anakin caught himself thinking that this was actually kind of pleasant. Maybe spending time with his family wasn’t so bad. Then, as if some higher power decided to challenge that thought, Olivia launched into a tangent about her last art show.

“You see, it was a collaborative feminist show, but it was challenging the idea of what feminist means,” she said. Her lips, painted with the most unflattering shade of pink, stretched into a disingenuous smile. “One of the other artists—a remarkably interesting polyamorous woman—did the most _arresting_ collection about being anti-abortion.”

“Oh, here we go,” Anakin said under his breath.

“She painted all these fetuses with menstrual blood. But anyhow, her whole argument was that if feminism is for equal rights, those rights should include the unborn. I had never thought of it that way! It made so much sense.”

 _It makes no sense at all,_ Anakin wanted to say.

“Father, I’d love to hear your Catholic opinion on the matter,” Olivia continued. It was Ben’s turn to knock back a large amount of wine at once.

“Well, uh…”

“Excuse me,” Ahsoka said suddenly. She left the table without further explanation.

Anakin shot Ben an apologetic look. As much as he would’ve liked to save him from this topic, Ahsoka’s abrupt departure probably meant something was wrong. He followed her, not caring about intruding on the women’s bathroom. Thankfully, she was the only person in there.

“Ana _kin_ ,” she hissed when she noticed he had trailed her. “You can’t be in here!”

“Don’t care.” He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the sinks, indicating he wasn’t going anywhere. “What’s the matter?”

Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I gathered that. We both know I’m more stubborn than you, though, so why don’t we do this the easy way instead of the hard way?”

“Fine.” She clenched her fists, and for a second Anakin thought she might hit him. Perhaps she was considering it. “Imhavinganabortion.”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“I am having an abortion!”

“Jesus, Ahsoka. Who’d you—”

“Oh my god.” Ahsoka threw her hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter! The point is, I have an appointment tomorrow and I don’t need to listen to Olivia prattle on about the morality of it.”

“Well, who is taking you?”

“Me. Myself.”

“Snips. It’s a medical procedure. You can’t just drive yourself.”

“Says who?”

“Says _me_. You should’ve told me.”

Ahsoka regarded him, saying nothing. He had an idea about what she was thinking—he’d all but disappeared from her life for the last year. He barely answered her texts and, on the rare occasion they did see one another, he brushed off her suggestions that they should hang out more. Anakin hadn’t been there for her, so why would she ever ask for his help with something like this? She had a right to feel that way. Anakin felt determined to make it up to her.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“You don’t have a car.”

“Well, I’ll get in your car and drive you in it! You’re not going alone.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation right now. Dad and Olivia will know something’s up. C’mon.”

“You overestimate how observant they are,” said Anakin, but he followed her out of the bathroom and back to the table. Ahsoka sat down, but Anakin didn’t. It was like all his rage towards Olivia, combined with his rage against himself, was boiling over. And the woman was _still_ ranting about abortion.

“It’s just so odd to me that during all these conversations about social justice, no one’s thought about justice for babies. Babies, of all people, should be included in the movement.”

Anakin marched over to her side of the table before he knew what he was going to do. “Do you ever get tired of being the absolute fucking worst?” he snapped. “You know, you don’t have to voice your opinion about everything.” He eyed the glass of red wine in front of Olivia, then noted her white blouse.

 _“Anakin,”_ his father scolded. Anakin barely heard him—his impulse control was already out the window. He gingerly tapped the glass with just enough force to knock it over, keeping eye contact with his stepmother the whole time.

Olivia let out a squeal as the crimson stain thoroughly ruined her outfit, but Anakin didn’t give anyone time to react beyond that. “Thanks for dinner. Happy engagement.”

He sauntered out of Ballaro, self-righteous and pleased with himself. He wished he could call Padmé. She would’ve gotten a kick out of the whole thing. He could still hear her laugh, her voice calling him “absolutely crazy.”

Before dragging his ass to the subway station to figure out the status of his Transit pass, Anakin needed a cigarette. He swung around to the other side of the building and leaned against the wall to smoke. If having a mother die of cancer didn’t make him quit, he was pretty sure nothing would. In fairness, however, he smoked a lot less frequently than he used to. He was on the last few drags of the cigarette when Ben rounded the corner.

“Have I cut the party short?”

Ben leaned on the wall beside him as if they were friends catching up rather than two people who’d just met that night. “Things were sufficiently awkward after the wine fiasco, so…”

“Sorry,” said Anakin. “I can’t give you the full story. But I had a reason.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me. Just hand me one of those and we’ll call it even?”

Anakin scoffed. People who bummed smokes were one of his pet peeves. But there was something about this guy…he had a charming air about him. Or maybe he was just good-looking. Either way, Anakin readily offered the box for him to pick from and gave him a light. He thought about making a goofy joke about priests being allowed to smoke, but he thought better of it. Watching Ben’s lips around the cigarette were taking his mind to other places, besides.

“I’d be happy to see you at the church sometime,” said Ben, smoke wafting from his mouth.

“I think I’m beyond saving.”

He laughed at that. _Handsome_ and _a good laugh,_ thought Anakin. _I wonder what he’s hiding. Maybe he’s a serial killer._

“Just think about it.”

“Sure.” Anakin was still preoccupied with thinking about his lips.

At that moment, Ahsoka appeared. “There you are,” she said to Anakin. “I’ll get us a cab.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I _insist.”_ She smiled at Ben. “It was nice meeting you. I’m sorry our family’s so fucked up.”

“I have some experience with fucked up families,” said the priest. That made Anakin want to stay and ask more.

Instead, he put his cigarette out on the brick wall. “See you at church,” he said, surprised to find he wasn’t actually being sarcastic.

Ahsoka grabbed Anakin’s forearm and pulled him along to the nearest main drag. “I don’t know whether to be angry with you or say thank you,” she said, waving in vain at the blurs of yellow that passed them by.

“Do neither,” Anakin offered. His sister let go of his arm only to walk right into the street, halting the next cab that drove their way. Although weren’t the same brand of crazy, the two of them were both crazy in their own ways.

“Thank you!” Ahsoka said brightly. The cab driver looked horrified.

As they got in, Ahsoka rattled off Anakin’s address to the driver. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” she told Anakin as she gave her purse a tap. In true Toronto fashion, the taxi bolted them out of Little Italy.

“Listen. I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” said Anakin. He tried to keep his voice low, so the driver couldn’t hear him over the radio.

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

“Let me drive you tomorrow.”

Ahsoka turned to look out the window. Her hair really did look great. No one could pull off colour like she did.

“All right,” she said eventually. A small victory from a night of mess. “Hey. Is it just me, or was that priest kind of hot?”

“ _So_ hot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The skeleton of the story is based on _Fleabag_ (mainly season two) but I didn’t just want to re-skin the show, so I’m doing my best to make it my own. Some of the scenes riff off of the beginning of Fleabag scenes, there will be references to different lines and so on! But you don’t need to have watched the show to read this and if you have, you may still be in for some surprises.
> 
> P.S. I don't live in Toronto, so if there's any geographical weirdness, please forgive.


	2. People make mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should’ve just let the main story be in the present tense, but I didn’t think of that and now, well, there’s the issue of flashbacks. So, italics are flashbacks.
> 
> CW for references to abortion in this chapter, also.

_The day Padmé turned twenty-five, it was a little more than a week before the soft opening of the café. Neither she nor Anakin had any idea what colour they were going to paint the walls or what the “vibe” of the place was going to be. They were still debating weather they would use bagged or loose-leaf tea. That was hardly at the forefront of Anakin’s mind, however. As the pair sat at one of several little tables_

_“I panicked! I totally panicked. I don’t know why I bought this.” He pushed the plastic bag towards her. “I also didn’t wrap it.”_

_Padmé didn’t seem to hear him. She pulled the gift out of the bag excitedly. “A_ Doctor Who _boxed set. Oh my god. A classic_ Doctor Who _boxed set!”_

_“It’s dumb,” sighed Anakin. “It’s so dumb.”_

_“Are you kidding? This is so weird and amazing. I love it!” She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “I love it, Ani. We have to have a marathon tonight.”_

_“Shouldn’t we be figuring our business stuff?”_

_“Probably. But it’s my birthday.” Her eyes flickered down to the boxed set again, then back up at him. “I love you, stupid.”_

_Anakin smiled. It was hard to argue with Padmé. “Love you, too.”_

***

As it turned out, Padmé fell in love with _Doctor Who_. She became hyperfixated on sci-fi and space in general—so much that it became the theme of the café. For Anakin’s part, he couldn’t bring himself to ever call it “Space Place,” so he exclusively referred to it as “the café.”

Speaking of which, the café was closed for the morning while Anakin accompanied Ahsoka to the abortion clinic. She sat curled up in the passenger seat wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt: a far cry from her usual fitted jeans and blazers. Anakin had taken the bus to her place early that morning, swiped the car keys from her hand and got into her (crappy) silver Hyundai Accent. 

“Are you nervous?” Anakin asked, although he was the one who had a death grip on the steering wheel.

“Stop talking. Please.”

He was at a loss. Had this been Padmé, he would have known exactly what to do and say to lighten the mood. But this—this was his little sister. 

She honestly seemed fine, like the whole thing was more of an inconvenience to her than some traumatic event. Still, Anakin knew she tended to bottle things up. Once, when she was twelve, she fell off the monkey bars on the school playground and hurt her wrist. It took three days for their parents to figure out something was off, and the wrist turned out to be _broken._ She’d hidden a broken wrist for _three days._ And the aftereffects of abortion—as far as Anakin had read on the internet, at least—were often physically painful. He hoped Ahsoka didn’t plan on going back to work on Monday, but he knew better than to say anything about that. 

“I just want you to know that I support you, Snips,” he said.

“I know.”

“Do you have a hot water bottle or something? I’ve read that’s good for the pain.”

“You read...?” Ahsoka trailed off. “Anakin, you don’t have to be Mom.”

Anakin shook his head. “Believe me, I’m not. Mom was a better person than I’ll ever be. But I’d hate myself if I let you do this alone.”

“Okay, Mom.” Anakin kept his eyes on the road, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

Much to Anakin’s chagrin, Ahsoka wouldn’t let him go into the clinic with her when they arrived. She instructed him to wait in the car, or even wander, if he must. She’d text him afterwards. Anakin, too anxious to leave her, didn’t do any wandering beyond walking the perimeter the parking lot a handful of times. Back in the car, he scrolled through his phone. Twitter, as usual, was a hellscape. Out of curiosity, he typed “Ben Kenobi” in the search bar (social media was something priests had nowadays, right? Like, the pope had Twitter). Nothing came up. Maybe Instagram? …Nope. A shame, that. A page or two of photos of Ben would’ve occupied him for a little while, at least.

Anakin clicked over to his text messages, knowing full well it was a bad idea. He stared at the last text from Quinn, and it seemed to be staring back. “My key’s under the doormat.” Anakin hadn’t responded. He hadn’t known what to say. “I’m sorry” loses its meaning after a while. A few minutes went by with his inner voice screaming _don’t text Quinn don’t text Quinn don’t text Quinn_ until he—yep—texted Quinn.

“Hey. Are you OK? I’ve been thinking about you.”

A minute or two rolled by. No response. Maybe his phone wasn’t on him. Or, much more likely, he was ignoring Anakin. Quinn had never been able to keep that up for very long. Anakin tapped out another message.

“I know you’re probably still mad. I deserve that. I’m a trash boyfriend. I’m the worst. But I miss you.”

Anakin then had the strength to wait five whole minutes before sending another text.

“Please don’t get me the silent treatment. I can’t take it.”

Still nothing. Well, fine then. He’d go back to killing time on the Twitter hellscape.

***

Keeping the café closed on a Saturday wasn’t a great business move, but Ahsoka needed him, whether she said it or not. She emerged from the clinic looking both relieved and exhausted. The moment she got in the car, Anakin announced, “I’m taking you to McDonald’s.”

Ahsoka groaned. “I’ve been a vegetarian for like, two years, dude.”

“So? Order fries.” Anakin thought it best not to ask about the procedure. “You never answered me about the hot water bottle, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I have one. I do menstruate, you know.”

“Please,” Anakin made a face of mock disgust. “It’s bad enough knowing you have sex.”

“Ha, ha.”

It was a joke, of course, but Anakin was realizing there was a side to his sister’s life that he knew nothing about. That wasn’t to say Ahsoka had ever been boring—far from it. She’d had fun in her teen years, then mellowed out (or so Anakin thought) when she began university. Since then, she seemed super focused on her career, especially after their mom died. She had been so strong at the time, diving into work instead of self-sabotage. _What was_ that _like?_ Anakin wondered. Perhaps, though, she was not as put together as she seemed.

For the rest of the morning, Ahsoka conceded and let Anakin look after her. He felt more like her big brother than he had for quite some time: buying her snacks, watching Netflix with her in her room and, yes, heating up hot water bottles. Halfway into their fourth episode of _Parks and Recreation_ , Ahsoka dozed off. Anakin then slipped out of her apartment as quietly as he possibly could.

He really, really wished their mother had been there.

* * *

Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to church. He wished he could find some comfort in it. Perhaps that would’ve made grief easier: believing in heaven and all that. From the look of things at the Church of All Saints that Sunday morning, however, Anakin wasn’t alone in his skepticism. The place could hardly be described as packed—he had an entire pew to himself. Ben, who had worn jeans and a navy button-up to dinner two days before, seemed startlingly different in his vestment. He no longer looked like any other guy Anakin might have chased after. That emerald green garment with gold embroidery reminded him just how unattainable Ben was, which made him all the more interesting.

He obviously wanted to talk to Ben after the service (that was the main reason he was here, if he were being honest with himself), but as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one. Did people, like...normally line up to talk to the leader of their congregation? Or did that have more to do with Ben’s charisma? Anyway, Anakin was pretty sure he was the only person there under the age of forty-five, besides Ben himself. Once the priest’s gaggle of admirers had mostly gone their separate ways, Anakin moved toward him. Ben was speaking animatedly with a tall, bald Black man when Anakin caught his eye. 

“Anakin, I’m so glad you joined us.”

The man raised an eyebrow, nodded at Ben and walked away without a word.

“What’s up with him?” asked Anakin, glancing over his shoulder.

“Don’t mind Mace,” Ben said. “He doesn’t warm up to people easily.”

“He seems warmed up to you.”

“Well, naturally.” A pause. “Do you drink tea?”

“Sure.”

The upstairs loft of All Saints wasn’t much to look at. They used to teach Sunday school up there years ago, Ben explained, back when they had kids in the parish. “I call it my office, but as you can see, it’s more or less a glorified unit.”

He was right. The place was pretty messy, even by Anakin’s standards. At least the table was cleared and there were a few scattered chairs. Anakin helped himself to a seat while Ben pulled off his vestment, revealing an all-black ensemble (save the white clerical collar) and shifted through one of the cupboards. “It’s well past noon in the UK,” said Ben. He pulled out a couple of cans of beer and slid one across the table. “How about a real drink?”

“I see.” Anakin noted the way Ben had haphazardly tossed his vestment over one of the other chairs and wondered if that was somehow sacrilegious. “You’re one of those _cool_ priests.”

Ben snorted. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean. You’re a priest, but. You like. Swear and drink. And stuff.”

“More common than you think.”

“I have to ask,” Anakin cracked his can open. Ben did the same, taking his seat across from him. “What’s a Scotsman doing here?”

“Well, I was born in Scotland, but I’ve actually spent most of my adult life in England,” said Ben. “I suppose I needed a change of scenery, after a while.”

Anakin scoffed. “Why would you leave England for a shithole like Toronto?”

“You can’t hate it that much. You live here.”

Obviously, Ben wasn’t afraid to challenge him. Anakin didn’t know whether to hate him for it or be endeared by it. “I have a lot of ghosts here. If I left, who would keep me company?”

“Oh? What sort of ghosts?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Anakin took a gulp of his beer. It was room temperature, but hey, still free. “So, being Catholic and all, what are your thoughts on abortion?”

“Lord help me! I thought we left this conversation behind.”

“All right, fair. But I can’t continue enjoying your company until I know your views on homosexuality.”

The priest looked at him quizzically. “If I had a problem with you being gay, I wouldn’t have invited you to my church.”

“Hold on. How’d you know?”

“Um, there was a bit of talk of an ex-boyfriend when you showed up at dinner on Friday.”

Ugh. Right. Fucking Olivia had brought Quinn up. While Anakin’s stepmother had never been _explicitly_ uncomfortable with his queerness, she occasionally got invasive and weird. If he had to guess, she’d probably been one of those women who wanted a “gay best friend” in art school but also thought every lesbian she met had a crush on her.

“Well, I suppose I’m not gay,” Anakin said. “Like, not strictly.”

“I understand.” Ben shrugged. “I’ve been attracted to all sorts of people.”

“Ha! So you _are_ a cool priest.”

“I would never dream of claiming to be cool.” He smiled, and Anakin couldn’t help but notice his eyes crinkled at their corners. Damn, he really was attractive. “Do you consider yourself cool?”

“I’d say I’m just normal.”

“Normal.”

“Yeah. Normal. I don’t really believe in god, I just go about my life and…”

“Spill wine on people who anger you.”

Anakin pressed the can to his lips instead of responding.

“Have you talked to your father since?”

“Nope. Dad and me…we don’t really talk about things. We just let them blow over.”

“Sounds like a hell of a way to build resentment.”

“You think?” Anakin held the priest’s gaze for a moment. He had the inkling that Ben wanted to hear his life story, but he wasn’t going to share it. “Wait—are you allowed to say ‘hell’?”

“For someone who acts like they’re not interested in religion, you’re very preoccupied with what a priest can or can’t do.” Ben hesitated, then said, “I want to give you something.”

Anakin bit his tongue, as it was the only way he could resist making a dirty joke. He watched Ben stand and shuffle about the cluttered space until he pulled a black book from one of many stacks. The words were on the cover were unmistakable in reflective gold text: _Holy Bible._

“Seriously?”

Ben slid the bible on the table towards him, as he’d done with the beer earlier. “Humour me.” And he looked so damn sincere that Anakin eventually picked it up and agreed.

_Fuck. I definitely have a crush on a priest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m beginning to think this story concept is too niche to have much of an audience, so I took my time updating. I want to finish it anyway, though. They can’t all be winners! Sorry in advance if I'm slow on the uploads.


	3. Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicide mention. 
> 
> You know that Sue Sylvester meme? The one that says “I’m going to create an alternate universe that is so self-indulgent” …that’s this fic.

_“You can’t.”_

_“Ani…” Shmi’s voice was gentle, but there was a heaviness about it. Sadness. Or guilt, maybe._

_“Mom, please. I know it’s been a tough few months. But you can’t just quit treatment.”_

_When Anakin’s mother had asked him to go for a walk with her, he knew something was up. The chemotherapy had taken the fun out of, well, everything. If Shmi got out of the house to sit on the back porch, it was a good day. She was beautiful—always would be—but she’d become paler, thinner and physically weaker. To make matters worse, his dad was completely in denial._

_Shmi sighed, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. Her brown eyes caught the sparkle from the sun, which Anakin thought made her look livelier than she had in weeks. “I’m not quitting,” she said, finally. “I’m letting it go.”_

_“You need to give this some thought,” countered Anakin._

_“I have. For more than a month.” She halted on the sidewalk and turned to face him. It was all Anakin could do not to collapse, to cry, to scream, anything. “My dear, I want to enjoy the time I have left as best I can. With you, your father and Ahsoka.”_

_Anakin scanned his mother’s face. He got his stubbornness from her, and he knew how she looked when she’d made a final decision. He looked the same._

_“Do they know? Dad and Snips?”_

_Shmi shook her head. “I wanted to tell you first. I knew you’d take it the hardest.” She reached out and cupped his cheek with her right hand. “You take everything the hardest.”_

_***_

Anakin blinked up at the grey sky. He hoped the rain would hold off. For more than a year after Shmi died, he didn’t visit her grave. Not once. Part of him had still been angry her for giving up. She’d called it “letting go,” but Anakin had trouble understanding that. Letting go had never been his forte. Even now that he’d let go of that anger, he still couldn’t let go of _her_. Each morning (unless the weather was unbearable), he walked a path through the cemetery where Shmi was buried and stopped at the bench near her headstone. Some days, he spoke to her, even though it felt silly. On days like this one, he just sat and missed her.

He didn’t even notice Ben approaching until he was in front of him.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Ben said brightly. 

Anakin looked up in surprise. The priest was dressed in all black again, as he’d been when Anakin left him at the church a few days before.

“Are you stalking me now, Father?” A cheap joke, Anakin realized. But he wasn’t in much of a mood to conjure any original wit. Ben smiled anyway.

“I had a funeral yesterday. Internment was this morning,” he said. “May I sit?”

Anakin moved over by way of response: just enough so Ben could join him on the bench. When he sat, their legs brushed together slightly. 

“I wonder what your excuse is. For being at a cemetery before eight in the morning, I mean.”

For a minute, Anakin thought about making something up, but he couldn’t think of any sane explanation. Even the truth was hardly sane. “A walk. Saying hello to Mom. Just part of my daily routine.”

The way Ben looked at him then made Anakin want to disappear. His gaze was sympathetic—pained, even. Anakin hated being on the receiving end of sympathy. He didn’t deserve or want it.

“You come here every day?”

Anakin shrugged the question off. “Hey. The café’s not far from here, if you want to see it. I could make you some tea.”

***

 _Before Shmi’s funeral, Anakin met up with Ahsoka and_ _Padmé in the church lobby. Alden and Quinn had yet to arrive, which was just as well. Anakin didn’t know what to say to Quinn. He only wanted to comfort him, and Anakin didn’t want to be comforted. He needed to sit in his pain, because the pain was proof his mother had existed. It was the most visceral way to keep her “alive.” As for his father, he hadn’t said much of anything over the last few days._

 _“You look handsome,” Padmé offered, looking Anakin up and down. He was dressed mostly in black, with a bit of dark grey_ (for dimension _, he’d joked). “Almost too handsome.”_

_“What’s that mean?”_

_She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s fine.”_

_Ahsoka, meanwhile, she shifted from one foot to the other as she gave Anakin a once-over of her own. She’d dyed her hair back to her natural dark brown for the occasion—their father’s request—and wore a black maxi dress that went down to her ankles. Only Padmé was the odd one out in royal purple: the darkest colour she owned. Shmi would have chuckled at that._

_“Padmé’s too nice to tell you, you look like you’re on your way to a wedding with the full intention of picking up all of the bridesmaids.”_

_“Ahsoka, that’s nonsense,” said Padmé, pretending to scold her. “We both know he’s far more likely to pick up groomsmen.”_

_Ahsoka snorted._

_“Thanks, you two, very helpful.” Anakin fiddled at his charcoal tie. On second thought, maybe the tie was too much._

_“I’m sorry, Ani.” Padmé inched closer to him. “We’re just jealous.”_

_“Speak for yourself!” said Ahsoka. “Me? I am taking my grief out on those around me. Anakin is the first target.”_

_It was Anakin’s turn to get a dig in. “What would your therapist say about that?”_

_“At least I_ have _a therapist.”_

_She had a point._

_“Hey. No arguing until after people have started drinking, okay?” Padmé winked. Anakin wondered what they’d ever do without her._

***

Ben circled the café, admiring (Anakin hoped it was admiration, at least) the galaxy-painted walls of black, purple, blue and white. Meanwhile, Anakin fumbled his way through making a cup of green tea. He knew very little about tea, truth be told. Maybe that was part of the reason the café wasn’t doing so well. He’d always thought tea bags were to be steeped at a rolling boil, but he learned—via a quick Google search—that wasn’t the case for green. He waited a few minutes before pouring and placing the mug at one of the nearby tables. Anakin sat down, because who was he kidding? The chances of a customer walking in were slim. Ben soon joined him, glancing down at the side of the mug. The design depicted Saturn with text that read, “I need my space.”

“I like how committed you are to the, uh, theme.”

Anakin realized he should’ve made himself a coffee. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. “My business partner, Padmé. I gave her a _Doctor Who_ boxed set once and for whatever reason, she took it very seriously as a gift. She became totally fascinated by space.”

“You didn’t mention you had a business partner.”

Anakin hesitated. It would have been so much easier to sit there and stare at Ben’s mouth while he blew on his cup of tea. He wished they didn’t have to talk. He wished Ben didn’t seem to genuinely care.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, averting his gaze. “That’s because she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not. It’s like, really not. But…y’know. Not much we can do about it.” He paused. “I told myself I would save up to get her a telescope, eventually. A good one. Then I’d rent a car and drive her out of the city. Take her to the stars.”

When Anakin looked back at Ben, he was giving him that same pained expression he’d given him back at the cemetery. Why was he like this? Acting so caring towards a trainwreck like Anakin? They hardly knew each other.

“That’s a beautiful gift.”

“It would’ve been. Now she’s gone and that’ll never happen.”

“You could still do it. In her honour.”

“I don’t know.” Anakin shrugged. “Seems pointless.”

“Have you ever considered that, maybe, you deserve the stars, too?”

A shiver went down Anakin’s spine. What an odd thing to ask.

“I…” he began. Then, he settled on answering simply and honestly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Padmé killed herself. I don’t think I’ve said that out loud before.” Anakin wouldn’t let himself cry. Nope. He could do that at home. “You know the first thing I thought when I found out? I thought, ‘How could she leave me?’ She’d bled out in her bathtub and I was still thinking about myself. I can understand why she did it. She had an asshole for a best friend.”

“Oh, Anakin.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No,” agreed Ben. “But we can. If you want. I’d like to get to know you.”

“I’m not usually a fan of…um…being known.” Certainly not by people he wanted to seduce.

“It’s common to be scared of vulnerability,” said Ben. “But I want to help you.”

Anakin stiffened. “I didn’t realize I was missionary work.”

“That isn’t—”

“I’m not scared. And I am _not_ a charity case.”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean—”

“Actually, I should be tidying up before the lunch rush. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Anakin got up and made his way back behind the counter. There was no such lunch rush, of course, or any kind of rush. He wasn’t even mad at Ben, really. He was mad at himself for believing that Ben liked him.

Ben lowered his head. “Right,” he said. He didn’t stand right away. Instead, he pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed a napkin from the table. He jotted something down and left it there. Anakin pretended not to notice, despite his curiosity.

“Have a good day, Anakin,” said Ben, now rising from his seat. “And, again, I’m terribly sorry about your friend Padmé. She was lucky to have you.”

Anakin swallowed the urge to argue. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look up again until he heard the ring of the bell above the door, signalling Ben had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some lovely comments on the last chapter. Thank you for your support and encouragement! I’m sorry updates are slow and this chapter is short. I’ve been depressed and binge-watching She-Ra (which is amazing, btw). I hope to get more consistent with uploads but I can’t make any promises, as I’m still a little down in the dumps. On the bright side, I am married now! Our wedding was COVID cancelled but we eloped. Whaaaat.


	4. Hair is everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ~loosely~ based on a couple of my favourite _Fleabag_ eps. If you know, you know. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it.

_It was late, and Padmé had downed a couple of glasses of wine. Perhaps that was what had gotten her feeling spontaneous. True, she’d always been bold, but never careless. She thought through her decisions. That was why Anakin was baffled when she proposed a trip to the 24-hour drugstore for a hair bleaching kit._

_“You have beautiful hair,” he said. “I’ll take no part in destroying it.”_

_Padmé took another sip of the cheap merlot they were sharing on Anakin’s couch. “You’re no fun.”_

_Even with wine-stained chapped lips, sweatpants and an old t-shirt, Anakin was in awe of his best friend. He pondered that he was one of the only people to ever see her like this. Even without much disposable income, Padmé managed to maintain a good sense of fashion. She had all the patience Anakin lacked, happy to pick through discount racks and bargain bins for hours to find the perfect dress. Usually, Padmé was Anakin’s voice of reason. He wasn’t sure he liked the role reversal._

_“Let a professional do it, at least,” he suggested._

_“We both know I don’t have the money for that.”_

_“If you still want to do it when we’re sober, I’ll agree to be your accomplice. If not, we can spend your bleach money on booze.”_

_Padmé rolled her eyes. “Fine. Deal.”_

***

The text message came in just before 9 a.m. It was from Ahsoka.

> Snips: SOS!!!
> 
> Anakin: What’s up? You alive?
> 
> Snips: Unfortunately. Can you please come over?
> 
> Anakin: Just about to open the café.
> 
> Snips: UGH. OK. Can you meet me at the park down the road from the Space Place in 20? It’s an emergency.
> 
> Anakin: You better not be pregnant again.
> 
> Snips: LO fucking L. Don’t even JOKE.

Anakin rolled his eyes. He’d be there, but he didn’t have to be happy about it. He was still a mess of emotions from his interaction with Ben the day before. To make matters worse, the note Ben left behind was more charming than it had any right to be. “Sorry for being a total git. Call me or stop by for a beer sometime, would you? No God talk. No ‘missionary’ work. I really do like being around you.” He left his phone number and address. _Too trusting for Toronto_ , Anakin thought. Still, he’d thought about calling or texting him more than once over the last 24 hours. He had even leafed through the pages of a few sections of the Bible, but his mind usually wandered to thinking about whether Ben was a good kisser.

So, yeah. He still wanted to kiss him. Among other things.

Whatever. There were, apparently, more pressing matters to attend to.

Anakin made his way down the park’s dirt path, towards the wooden benches where Ahsoka asked to meet. He didn’t recognize her at first and almost walked straight past where she sat, hunched over and silent. Her hair was twisted into a bun, but that didn’t hide its mossy green colour.

“Hey, Snips,” Anakin said, trying not to stare at the top of her head. He plopped down on the bench beside Ahsoka and she buried her face in her hands.

“I look I’ve been dunked in swamp water,” she groaned.

“Don’t say that!” Anakin said hurriedly. “Look at me.”

Ahsoka let out a sharp exhale and reluctantly lifted her head. He could tell from her reddened eyes that she’d been crying. It wasn’t like her to get emotional over something as trivial as a bad dye job (she changed her hair colour and style regularly, never really getting attached to one look over the other), but Anakin figured her feelings from an otherwise stressful week might be spilling over into “hair feelings.”

“I’m definitely getting fired,” said Ahsoka. “Who’s gonna want to talk to a reporter who looks like a chia pet?”

“Don’t be stupid. You look nice. As always,” said Anakin. He awkwardly patted her knee in an attempt at comfort, but it didn’t seem to help.

“It was supposed to be yellow. Sunflower yellow,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.”

“No, you’re not! It’s cool!” Anakin protested. He knew nothing about these things, having rocked the same light brown waves for ages, but he tried to pretend.

“You’re full of shit,”

“It’s edgy. It’s like, punk rock! You know?”

Ahsoka studied her brother’s face. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You look like a badass.” He wasn’t lying about that part. It would take more than a botched hair colour to make Ahsoka look anything less than the powerhouse she was. He didn’t know if he completely convinced her—she was still looking at him skeptically—but she seemed less anxious than she had a few moments ago.

“Sorry for pulling you away from the café to freak out at you.”

“You didn’t freak out at me. You freaked out _to_ me. Important distinction.”

Ahsoka was smiling now. “So, do you have to hurry back, or…?”

Anakin knew he probably should. However, he remembered his silent promise to be better at supporting Ahsoka. “I have a few minutes to kill,” he said with a shrug.

“Okay. Well, then. Tell me what’s going on with you. Have you heard from Quinn?”

Anakin hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I kind of met someone else. I’m interested in someone else, anyway.”

“What!?” Ahsoka responded with a playful punch to his arm. “That’s amazing! You have to tell me everything. What’s he like? What does he do?”

_Well. Here goes._

“The thing is, uh…he’s a priest.”

With that, Ahsoka went right back to burying her face in her hands. _“Anakiiiin.”_

“I know, I know. But you’ll be relieved to know he doesn’t actually like me,” Anakin sighed. “I thought he did. Turns out I am just a tortured soul with the potential to be part of his godly mission.”

Ahsoka looked up and furrowed her brow. “He said that?”

“Well, no, but he said he wants to ‘be there for me’ or something like that.”

“What a monster!” Ahsoka said sarcastically. “He sounds absolutely dreadful.”

Anakin paused. He wasn’t used to someone being kind to him without wanting something in return. Was he really pissed that Ben had been friendly despite _not_ wanting to sleep with him? “On second thought, it may be possible that _I_ am the jerk in this situation.”

“As you so often are.”

“Fuck off.”

His sister beamed. Anakin knew she was right. After he closed the café, he’d have some fixing to do.

***

The napkin note Anakin had begrudgingly shoved in his jeans pocket was still readable, if crumpled. He took the subway out to Ben’s neighbourhood, which was something of a lengthy ride. He got there sometime after nine. When he finally knocked on Ben’s door, he realized how silly it was for coming all this way outside of the city without so much as a text. But now, he’d committed. In a moment, a surprised, casually-dressed Ben opened the door. He looked good in jeans.

“I probably should have called, but,” Anakin lifted up a plastic grocery bag, “I brought beer.”

Ben’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped outside. “We’ll sit in the garden, if you don’t mind. Mace is pretty adamant about quiet after ten o’clock…”

“Mace lives with you?” Anakin asked, picturing the aloof guy from the church.

“Downstairs flat, yes. He’d a good housemate.”

Ben led the way through his yard. It was a clear night, and more stars were visible than there would have been downtown.

“I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday. I don’t have many friends, since, um…”

Ben shook his head. “Put it out of your mind. If I made you feel like a project, you should know that wasn’t what I intended,” he said. “I don’t have many friends myself.”

They sat together on patio chairs in front of a blue hydrangea bush. Anakin didn’t have much in the way of plant skills, but he still hoped he could afford a place with a yard someday. Gardens made everything look less miserable.

“Is it harder to make friends while you’re a priest?” He passed Ben a can of beer and opened his own. Ben eagerly accepted it.

“I suppose,” he said, absently tapping the side of the can with his fingers. “People are worried about being judged, I think. As if they have to be in Super Catholic mode around me or something.”

“I don’t worry about that,” said Anakin.

“I know you don’t,” Ben replied with a smirk. “That’s why I like you.”

 _“That’s_ why?”

“Partially.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes.

“So, if you meet someone you _really_ like—”

Ben put up the hand that wasn’t holding his beer. “You don’t want to sleep with me, Anakin.”

Anakin snorted. “I don’t?”

“You want to connect with someone, and you think that’s all you have to offer.” Ben was looking at him in the eyes, a little more intensely than Anakin would have preferred. “But it isn’t.”

Unsure how to respond, Anakin took a long sip of beer before saying anything else. Ben wasn’t wrong. That said, Anakin still wanted to sleep with him. He didn’t know if Ben was oblivious to his own attractiveness, or he just pretended not to notice. “But, I mean, you must develop the occasional crush,” pressed Anakin. “You’re still only human.”

“Sure,” said Ben. “When that happens, I just give them a Bible and hope that scares them off.”

Anakin bit back a grin. “Have you ever fallen in love?”

“Once, I was in love with the same person for many years. An old friend. If she’d asked, I probably would have left the Church to be with her.” Ben dropped his gaze. “But she never asked. It probably wouldn’t have worked out, anyway. We hardly agreed on anything.”

“Are you still in touch with her?”

“She died.”

Anakin felt a sting of guilt. He’d been jealous for a moment there. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s all right. I have many fond memories of her. I think it made my faith stronger, in the end.”

That made no sense to Anakin. Losing those close to him had pushed him farther from the idea of God, not closer. Then again, perhaps that was part of the reason he was bitter while Ben seemed so…at peace with it.

“What about you?” asked Ben, back to looking Anakin in the face. “Have you ever been in love?”

To Anakin’s surprise, it wasn’t Quinn who came to mind—but Padmé. Their relationship had never been romantic, or even sexual, but Anakin would’ve been lying is he said he had never thought about being more than friends with her. They’d trusted each other so completely, though, he was always afraid of ruining the good thing they already had.

“Yeah,” Anakin said simply. “She died, too.”

He didn’t have to elaborate for Ben to understand. The priest reached for Anakin’s free hand and intertwined their fingers together. Neither one of them let go until Anakin had to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for keeping up with my very inconsistent fic. They’re gonna KISS! Soon.


End file.
